


A Thousand Words

by YanderexBabydoll



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Choking, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, Manipulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Yandere, this one's a doozy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanderexBabydoll/pseuds/YanderexBabydoll
Summary: Iwaizumi breaks your heart and Oikawa won't leave you alone.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader, Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 198





	A Thousand Words

You break up with Iwaizumi two weeks before Valentine’s Day, standing in the doorway of the apartment you share with him.

And you hate that it still hurts, still tugs at the wretched, broken strings of your heart to watch that rare, beautiful smile of his fracture like glass, confusion giving way to disbelief and then finally anguish.

Iwa’s never been the best with his words, but it seems that you’ve robbed him of those too as you tell him that your relationship’s over. He just stands there, wide eyed, _agonised_ as you shove your phone – the proof – into his face, a hoarse, strangled whisper of ‘why’ leaves his lips. 

It seems that it’s all that he’s capable of.

There’s nothing for him to say anyway. You don’t want his apologies or his excuses. The pictures are evidence enough. 

A boys weekend, he’d told you, and you’d trusted him. You _loved_ him. He wasn’t like your ex, Iwa would never deliberately do anything to hurt you. 

He _knew_ what fidelity meant to you.

You’d thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with him, but those pictures are enough to show you what a fool’s dream that was. Iwa, naked in bed, wrapped around some other woman.

Sleeping so peacefully, curled up by her side, like he’d done with you a thousand times.

And it doesn’t matter whether he was drunk or not. It doesn’t matter if he knew her or paid for her or found her at some fancy fucking bar downtown. He cheated on you, he broke your heart and he doesn’t get to watch you fall apart in front of him.

You save your tears until the door swings shut, collapsing onto the floor with a heartbroken wail as the man you love walks away.

—

Iwaizumi doesn’t remember much of that night. He’s never been a lightweight, but the drinks they were knocking back would’ve been enough to take out the best of them. And Iwa didn’t have to worry, not when he was out with friends. 

God knows they’d gotten him into so much shit when they were younger and stupider, but between the four of them they’ll stop each other from doing anything too damaging. They have careers now (most of them, anyway) and reputations to protect. And Iwa had _you_.

Out of everything; his career, his reputation, his livelihood, you were the one thing Iwa wouldn’t risk fucking up.

The night itself is a hazy, incomprehensible blur, but he does remember the girl. Not her name or where she came from, but he remembers her. A pretty face with a sultry smile, wearing some short, tight, shimmering dress. He remembers her sitting on Oikawa’s lap, fingers carding through his hair, red lips kissing at his jaw.

And he remembers Oikawa lounging back in his seat, barely paying the poor girl an ounce of attention, even when her hand started to run teasingly up his thigh, those same sinful lips whispering into his ear.

How the girl managed to find her way from Oikawa’s lap to his hotel bedroom is beyond him, but the pictures don’t lie. It’s his arm wrapped around her waist, her skin littered with love bites and fingerprint shaped bruises.

It was her mouth he’d woken up to, trailing a slow, teasing path up along his chest. He’d shoved her aside, snapped and snarled until the pretty thing welled up with tears and all but fled, leaving him to fall back into the sheets full of self loathing and disgust, wondering how he could possibly have fucked up this badly.

And when he threw up later, hurling until there was nothing left in his stomach, he knew it had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d drunk.

Iwa hadn’t known that anybody knew, hadn’t thought that there was proof – not until you were shoving it in his face, your bottom lip trembling as you tried to keep your tears at bay. And what could he say? 

It was a mistake?

He was drunk?

Iwa doesn’t make excuses, you deserve more than that. You deserve more than _him_.

He should’ve fallen to his knees and begged – begged you through tears if he had to – for you to give him a second chance. But the words stuck in his throat, because the look of absolute, utter heartbreak on your face felt like a fist driving into his gut, and he wasn’t sure if he even deserved it.

You break up with him two weeks before Valentine’s Day, entirely unaware of the ring he’s been carrying around in his pocket for almost a month now, and Iwaizumi doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

So he does the only thing he can, and calls Oikawa.

—

Moving your things out of the apartment you’d spent the last year and a half sharing with your boyfriend – your _ex_ -boyfriend – takes less time than you think. The life you’d started to build with him, packed up in nice neat little boxes in only a few hours. 

And you’re grateful that he’s not there. He’d messaged you to tell you that he wouldn’t be, the only contact you’d had with him since breaking up. 

It’s not the pictures on the nightstand, Iwa’s strong arms wrapped around you, a dopey little grin on his face that gets to you – it’s the World’s Best Boyfriend mug he’d bought you as a joke one day, the old hoodie of yours that was actually his, the one you’d worn half to death because it was warm and smelled like him. 

It’s hard enough to do this without him hovering over you, but stupidly you’d forgotten that while _Iwa_ had promised not to be there, he wasn’t the only one with a key to your shared apartment.

The lock clicks and the door swings open just as you’re finishing up in the bedroom and for one single, split second, your heart jumps into your throat.

But the brunette that saunters in isn’t the one you’re still in love with, and you’re quick to brush away the tears on your face before he can see.

Before he can mock you for it.

Oikawa, ever the charmer, merely grins when he catches sight of you. 

“Did Iwa send you to supervise?” you say in lieu of a proper greeting, the words slightly more bitter than you intend – even for him. 

He isn’t bothered by it, his grin widening just a fraction as he turns and settles down on the bed, long legs stretched out, ankles casually crossed over. He looks entirely too comfortable there and it’s an effort not to bristle.

“Well hello to you too,” he says, his voice a teasing lilt. “Are you always this fun in the mornings?”

Your brows draw together in a frown, but just as you open your mouth to snap a retort, his palms come up in a gesture of mock surrender. “No, Iwa did not send me to _supervise_ you. He doesn’t know I’m here, actually.”

“Then why are you here? To gloat?” you spit.

Oikawa’s eyes glitter, amusement tugging at his lips. You love Iwaizumi, and for his sake you’ve spent the past few years tolerating the constant, overbearing presence of his best and oldest friend. Oikawa, on the other hand has never made all that much of an effort to hide the fact that he doesn’t exactly approve of your relationship with his friend.

Oh, he’s never outwardly rude or hurtful. He doesn’t sit there and spew abuse at you, and as far as you know he hasn’t tried to sway Iwa into leaving you since the very early days of your relationship, but Oikawa doesn’t need to be overt to make his feelings clear.

He treats you like a one night stand that hasn’t quite gotten the hint that it’s time to fix your dress and move right along. 

You still haven’t forgotten the night you all went out to celebrate your boyfriend’s birthday, how he’d slid into Iwa’s empty seat the moment he’d slipped out to get another round of drinks and spoken so casually, as if it was nothing but a friendly conversation. Small talk. 

“You know it won’t last; you and Iwa.”

And you hadn’t said a word, not wanting to be baited into fighting – into ruining Iwa’s night. You hadn’t even scowled at him, just sat there, pretending that he didn’t exist as you waited for your boyfriend to come back to you. 

“You’re cute together, I’ll give you that much,” he’d mused, swallowing the last mouthful of his beer. He’d studied you from beneath long lashes for a moment; a sharp, lingering look entirely at odds with the easy, relaxed tone of his voice. “But you two aren’t a good match. You don’t belong with him.”

You never did figure out exactly what you’d done to make him dislike you so much, but you suppose it doesn’t matter now. 

Not when he’s finally proven himself to be right. 

“Please,” he says with a scoff, rolling those pretty eyes of his, “as if I’d be so immature. I’m just here to make sure you don’t steal the coffee machine – it’s so much better than the one I have at home.”

He spends the next half hour trailing you from room to room, looking entirely too delighted at your misery. It’s almost a relief when you slip into the bathroom just for a moment’s fucking peace, brushing angrily away at the tears that still haven’t left you.

You almost – _almost_ – reach for your phone to message Iwa and tell him to call off his stupid, infuriating friend, except you’d left it lying on the kitchen bench.

—

His head hurts. An incessant pounding, throbbing ache that makes him want to hurl.

Rationally, he’d known that the cure for the monstrous hangover he’d given himself wasn’t going out for a run at five in the morning, but he didn’t know what else to do. It was either that or keep drinking, and considering it was the alcohol that had gotten him into this fucking mess in the first place…

“I need to fix this,” he groans, dropping his head into his hands, letting his fingers roughly run through the tangles of his hair. “I need to fucking fix this.”

He looks like shit, feels like shit, but he can’t bring himself to care, not even as a solid weight drops itself onto the couch beside him. 

“You _need_ to give her space, Iwa,” Oikawa comments with a sigh, passing him a glass of water that he gratefully chugs. “Give her time to figure things out. She’s hurting, and you constantly harassing her won’t do you any favours in trying to win her back.”

He wants to see the truth in his friend’s wisdom. He knows he hurt you, he _knows_ he fucked up, but–

You’d already moved your things out.

He’d known that, of course he had, but coming home to see every trace of you just _gone_ was like a gut punch. He was gonna marry you, get down on one fucking knee in front of everybody and– and now you’re gone and he’s crashing in his best friend’s spare bedroom because the thought of going home without you there is too fucking painful for him to bare.

And he only has himself to blame for it. 

But you’re his future, the only one he really gives a damn about, and he’s not one to just give up and walk away. Iwa doesn’t care if it takes weeks or months, he doesn’t care if he has to spend the rest of his life making this up to you; he will. 

He can’t just let you go. 

Oikawa continues to try and talk sense beside him, but he’s barely paying attention, only offering a small grunt of acknowledgement when he feels the brunette’s eyes studying him. He knows that he’s only trying to help, but he can’t honestly remember the last time Oikawa bothered to introduce him to one of the girls hanging off his arm. He knew as well as his friend did that there wasn’t much point – they wouldn’t be sticking around for long. Fuck, he doesn’t think that Oikawa’s ever had a serious relationship in his life, so excuse him if he’s a little hesitant to take his advice as gospel.

And Oikawa doesn’t know you like Iwaizumi does. He doesn’t understand you, doesn’t see what Iwa does when he looks at you. You’re like… sunlight. There’s no other way he can describe it. It’s cheesy and stupidly sappy, he’d rather be shot than admit it out loud, but he’s never met another person so–so… radiant. You burn _bright_ , and Iwaizumi can’t help but be drawn to you – your warmth and your softness and everything about you. You’re beautiful and caring and you’re _home_ and he’s terrified that if he waits too long, somebody else is gonna see that and snatch you up for themselves and he won’t even be able to blame them for it.

He knows he fucked up, knows that you probably (rightfully) hate him, but he has to try. 

So he ignores the way that Oikawa huffs and rolls his eyes when he reaches for his phone, opening up your last conversation.

_Please, can we talk? I know you don’t want anything to do with me right now but I’m begging you. Just ten minutes?_

And his heart pounds against his ribcage so violently that he thinks he might be sick as he waits for it to send. Waits for the little ‘Read’ notification to pop up.

And waits.

And waits.

_Error. Message failed to send._

He tries again, distinctly aware of the Oikawa’s watchful, curious gaze peering over his shoulder.

_Error. Message failed to send._

There’s a sinking feeling in his gut and in his panic, he presses the call button, bringing the phone to his ear with a sick feeling in his stomach.

It doesn’t even ring, there’s just three beeps and the line disconnects.

You’ve blocked his number.

—

You second guess yourself with every step, but you don’t stop and you don’t turn around. 

The radio silence from your ex had been a little unexpected, but you’d been the one to tell him in no uncertain terms that the two of you were done.

 _You_ were the one to make a point of moving out, keeping the few messages you’d exchanged short and to the point. Were you expecting him to fight you on it? Blow up your phone with messages and voicemails begging you to come back? Maybe show up at your door demanding that you hear him out and give him another chance. 

Were you maybe just the tiniest bit disappointed that he hadn’t? 

It wasn’t remotely fair to expect that of him, you _know_ that, but you couldn’t help the way your heart had leapt into your throat the moment his message had come through after days of nothing.

_Can we talk face to face? I need to see you._

Two sentences, that was it. And you’d spent the better part of an hour debating whether or not you should reply.

Because you love him still, despite it all. 

The last person you’d given a second chance to had used that chance to walk all over you. He’d broken your heart, your trust, and any semblance of self worth you’d had. Iwaizumi had been the one to build you back up afterwards. 

And now he’d done the same thing. _Knowing_ what you’d gone through before, and it gutted you.

The date on the calendar hasn’t slipped your attention. It’s Valentine’s Day, and you’d spent all morning trying to forget that if things were different, you would have spent the day with Iwa. He’d been secretive about his plans, tight lipped for once in his life, and there’d been some part of you that had wondered, _hoped_ even… but instead you’re sitting alone in a hotel room, feeling miserable for yourself. 

If you were stronger, maybe, and if today were any other day, you might have ignored the message, the way those two brief sentences made your pathetic heart ache, but–

But… perhaps you had been a little too hasty when you’d broken it off. Iwa hadn’t said a word to defend himself, but you hadn’t really given him the option, had you?

Agreeing to meet with him wasn’t agreeing to brush it all under the rug. It wasn’t a promise of forgiveness, or even really an olive branch. It just meant that you would go to hear him out, that’s all.

 _Just_ to hear him out.

Yet your stomach’s twisting into knots as you walk up the familiar steps, your heart beating out an unsteady rhythm. You love him, despite it all.

You love him, but that doesn’t stop your hand from trembling as you raise a fist to knock.

The smiling face that greets you when that door swings open, however, is not the one you’re expecting.

“Hey there, cutie. You’re early.”

Oikawa.

For one single, floundering heartbeat, confusion grips you. Why was he– was Iwaizumi not coming? Had you misunderstood the message, or… or had he changed his mind, backed down at the last second and sent his friend to hammer the final nail into the coffin of your failed relationship.

You didn’t think Iwaizumi would be the type, though. He’d never been cruel, he’d never been cowardly, either.

“I don’t… understand,” you breathe, wide eyes darting around as if you’re expecting your ex to suddenly pop up behind his shoulder and shove him aside with a growl, telling him to butt out of your relationship the way he had countless times before.

Yet Oikawa offers no explanation, that same stupid, infuriating grin widening as he steps back to let you in, and you, somewhat robotically, follow him inside. Your eyes flicker from his back to the apartment around you – it’s exactly how you left it last week, not a single thing out of place. 

“Iwa said–” but your voice falls silent as you realise that no, that’s not true. 

The door to your bedroom is ajar, soft, flickering light spilling out from the crack, but that’s not what catches your attention. It’s the rose petals on the floor, the dulcet music playing so quietly you’d missed it entirely. 

Your brow furrows, breath catching in your throat as you stare at the scene before you, utterly frozen. You don’t register Oikawa stepping closer, nor the dark hunger brewing in his eyes. None of this makes any sense, you don’t understand–

“Iwa’s not coming.” Long, delicate fingers grip your chin, tilting your face and before you can even draw breath his lips are pressing against yours. It only lasts a second, long enough for your lagging brain to register that _Oikawa_ is kissing you, here, in the middle of the apartment you’d shared with his best friend.

Oikawa, who hates you. Who’s cupping your cheek, gazing at you with an expression so eager and wanting, so unnervingly _wrong_ that it makes your heart clench in fear and your blood run cold.

His thumb brushes along the curve of your cheekbone, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

And then he’s grabbing at your hand, fingers entwining with yours as he tugs you towards the bedroom, and finally the shock wears off enough for reality to kick in.

“What the fu– Oikawa, get the hell off of me!” you snap, trying to wrench yourself free. But he’s stronger than he looks, and his grip merely tightens.

“Tooru,” he calls back, glancing over his shoulder with that impish, wicked little smirk. “I want you to moan it for me tonight. You can do that for me, right cutie?”

You’re not a violent person, you’ve never been the type to lash out with fists and blows, but something inside of you just _snaps_ at his words, and before you can stop yourself, your open palm flies towards his face. 

Quick as lightning, Oikawa spins, catching at your wrist and slamming you up against the living room wall. A small burst of pain radiates through your skull from the impact, your breath forced from your lungs in a pathetic squeak as he boxes you in. There’s not a moment for you to catch your breath, though, not with his forearm pressing down on your throat just hard enough so that you can _feel_ it. He’s always been taller than you, but you’d never considered him to be intimidating – not until he’s looming over you, teeth bared in that feral smirk.

“Oh, baby. If you’re not going to play nice, I won’t either.” His fingers tighten on your wrist, squeezing until a choked whimper slips out and he kisses you once more. Not soft or sweet, but bruising, teeth clacking, nipping and biting and harshly sucking at your bottom lip until you return it.

And when he pulls away, there’s blood on his lips – yours – and he licks it away with a satisfied little hum. “I put effort into this, you know,” he says, his tone almost conversational if not for the slight pant, the shivering undercurrent that laces every word. Oikawa leans closer, and you can feel the outline of his cock, hardening already as he presses it against you, rutting his hips ever so slightly. “Set the bedroom up nice and romantic for our first time together.”

He kisses you again, a sweet, tender peck, smiling when you part.

“But if you want me to fuck you here first, up against the wall, all you had to do was say so.”

—

The girl had been easy enough to convince to play along, which probably should have disgusted him. 

She looked like you; a cheap imitation, of course, but close enough. Oikawa could kid himself that it was for Iwaizumi’s sake, to sow the seeds of doubt in his head, but he knows as he forces her face down into the pillow, slamming his hips against her ass like a man possessed, that that’s not the whole truth.

But she served her purpose well enough, letting him fuck her, mark up that pristine skin with the same kind he’d seen littered across your neck and collarbones, your _thighs_ –

And she’d still tried to kiss him the moment before slipping out of her robe and climbing into his best friend’s bed. Given him that playful wink, biting her bottom lip seductively as if she were anything but a means to an end for him. 

As if he hadn’t forgotten her name the moment he’d gotten those pictures.

Oikawa knows all about your ex and how that asshole treated you, out of all the possible scenarios he could have engineered, _this_ would be the one that’d hurt you the most. He’d thought that you would fly off the handle, kick Iwa out for a few days and leave the door open _just_ wide enough for him to weasel his way in, but you’d gone one step further. 

You’d left him.

Broken his heart completely, the way he’d broken yours. Oikawa couldn’t have planned it better himself, and oh what he would have _killed_ to have been there to see it. 

And it’s not that he enjoys his best friend’s pain – truly, he wants Iwa to be happy, he does.

Just not with you. Not when you’re his.

It was easy enough to bully Iwa into revealing when you’d be coming over to pick up your things. Easy enough to rile you up to the point you’d run and hide just so he wouldn’t see you shed all those pretty tears.

Leaving your phone unattended. And really, it’s your own fault for choosing such an obvious passcode – how could he possibly resist?

You were none the wiser, his poor, unsuspecting little idiot. 

Yet for all your posturing and your badly concealed hurt, he’d known that you’d show up today. You’re a romantic at heart, and you’d let yourself be walked all over again if you thought it meant that somebody loved you, wouldn’t you?

You would’ve said yes when he’d gotten down on one knee, and when he’d come back to you with tears in his eyes, drowning in regret and you saw what a mess Iwaizumi was without you, you would have forgiven him – even if it meant giving him the power to break you all over again.

Oikawa honestly doesn’t know whether he should admire or pity you for it.

It hardly matters now, he supposes. Not when you’re so beautifully wrecked, lying nestled against his bare chest with those tears he adores spilling down your flushed cheeks. Every thump of your heart echoing his. 

He wonders if he should send Iwaizumi a picture. 


End file.
